


just a little too much

by republica



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dark, Death, F/M, Incest, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/republica/pseuds/republica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they need the darkness, the thrill of it, the same way they've always needed each other.</p>
<p>"He’s still concentrating on the man, on the life slowly draining out of him, and his shoulders flex with the effort.<br/>“Beautiful,” Rose breathes as they watch, and he’s not moving much anymore, the jerking has slowed, but they have to be sure. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a little too much

**Author's Note:**

> okay  
> just to clarify somethings before you read this  
> it's a dark!fic, serial killer AU; there is casual murder in this story as well as implied non-con that is diverted.  
> i hope i got all the warnings up there, if you think i should add any tags i will!

The bar is dark and smoky, full of desperate people looking to do depraved things. Sitting on a high stool is a slim blonde, her short hair carefully arranged, her long black dress draping across her curves, a slit up the side exposing her pale white skin to the humid air. She looks unflappable, poised and impassive, her hand clutching a glass of red wine.

She raises the cool glass to her jet black mouth, hiding a hint of a smile. She can feel eyes on her, hungry and sordid. The gaze travels up her body, lingering on certain parts. She stretches slightly, as if unaware of the watcher. A thrill goes up her body at the feeling, but she doesn’t turn.

Instead, she watches from the corner of her eye, as a swarthy man ambles closer to her, trying to be suave and missing the mark by a mile. He’s also been watching her, though his eyes hold none of the same appeal. She’s sure she can find a use for him, however.

Rose draws a single cigarette from the shiny silver case inside her tiny handbag. Turning to the overly muscular man, she asks, “Could I trouble you for a light?”

The man grins, his gaze predatory and he blatantly looks at parts of her that are not her face.

“Ain’t no trouble for a girl like you,” he says, and Rose notes with distaste the large tattoo spread across his neck. He fishes a lighter from his pocket, reaches out to light the cigarette which Rose has placed in her mouth. His fingers brush against her cheek in a heavy handed caress. She represses a shudder and leans into his touch, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

“Aren’t you just a gentleman?” she says, voice husky and coy.

“You look like the kind of lady who needs a real man,” he says, slurring on his words.

“Maybe you’d like to buy me a drink and find out?” She places a hand on his thigh. The man looks down at her, grins wider, and nods.

“You bet, baby.”

The bartender comes over, and the man orders her a long island iced tea. Rose wants to laugh; clearly he’s trying to get her drunk. The poor fellow has no idea what he’s in for.

“Wanna put something on the jukebox?” the man says. Rose agrees, although the bar stocks only obnoxious pop songs, none of which she enjoys. Why they need the option to allow drunkards to choose music is beyond her. She keeps her eye on the fellow at the bar as he discreetly crumbles powder into her drink.

Amateur, she thinks, pressing a random button on the fake 50’s themed jukebox.

She makes her way back over to him, allowing her hips to sway and bump into his side. The man reaches out an arm to tug her closer to him. He smells of alcohol and sweat, and his hand is clammy against her bare arm.

“That is a real nice dress,” he slurs into her chest. “Bet it would look better on my floor.”

Appalling.

“Yes, I think I’d like to take it off,” she tells him, dragging her nails down his back.

“Drink up,” he says with a leer, meeting her  eyes. His are a dull grey, scleras pink. There are burst blood vessels around his nose and she wonders when his last hit was. He’s missed a spot shaving.

Pathetic is the only word echoing in her head as she pretends to take a long sip of her drink. His eyes are not on her face and so he doesn’t see that she’s not actually swallowing any of the drugs.

“Would you go get me a napkin?” she asks him, and as he ambles off a few feet she quickly dumps half the drink into the grating behind the bar.

The man is completely ensnared, and Rose feels the tiniest of tingles begin in her bones, of excitement and anticipation.

She decides she might as well go all the way. Put on a show for the person she knows is watching. Any chance to indulge her exhibitionist streak.

She grabs the man, pulls one hand onto her ass, angles herself for optimal viewing and then drags her lips down the side of his cheek. The man responds with heavy handed groping, attacking her mouth, and her black lipstick smears onto his mouth. His tongue is like a slimy eel writhing inside her mouth, but Rose isn’t paying much attention to that. The hairs on the back of her neck are standing up as she feels eyes boring into her back. She cocks her hips to jutt her rear out a few more inches, the slit in her dress gaping higher. One of the straps slides down her arm and she lets it go. The man grips her shoulder, his skin rough. Rose lets out a gasp, just loud enough to be heard, and tilts her head back.

It’s over the top, but the tingling in her spine is getting harder to ignore and a dark lust rises, swamping her with its intensity, and she drags her nails up his spine. His grip tightens, and the pain only makes Rose more urgent, more aware of the wanton desires. She swears she can smell his blood, rushing under his skin and so close to the surface. His heartbeat thrums under her fingers pressed against his neck, hot and racing for her.

Her attention is caught as the bar door swings open, a faint hint of blonde whipping around the corner.

Only a few more minutes.

Her intensity fades a little, and she clings to his arm. “I’m staying in a hotel not far from here,” she whispers into his ear. “I think we should go there.”

                        The man chuckles. “Aren’t you eager, you slut.”

                        Rose’s blood boils in a completely different way, but she forces that down, instead rubbing up against his leg. “Only for you,” she lies.

                        “Fuck,” the man says, “Lead the way.”

 

She pretends to stumble on the walk to the hotel. He is a grinning monstrosity at the edge of her vision, but Rose focuses on other things, on the dark room and what is going to happen. His hands are anything but gentlemanly, feeling her hips, her breasts, her neck, and Rose feels a twinge of disgust. She thinks her shoulder might bruise from his grip, forceful and dominating, like he is in control of this situation.

                        It’s not a long way to the room; that’s been made sure of. But she needs to leave ample time, so she slows her pace, playing the part of the date-rape victim.

                         

                        The hotel room is also dark, as they approach it Rose’s anticipation slams back into her full force. It never gets old, the thrill and the excitement causing her to shiver with what she knows is coming.

                        The darkness is completely different from the bar. It is enticing, a seductive blackness that Rose knows contains her real satisfaction.

                        “Just here,” she tells the man.

                        She unlocks the door.

                        Shuts it behind her, locks it, doesn’t turn on the light.

                        The man is already taking off his pants, and Rose starts to slide out of her dress as well, the dim light from the window illuminating her naked body with ethereal light.

                        From within the room there’s a noise, and Rose positively shudders with the overwhelming need.

                        It’s so dark and she knows, she _knows_ what’s coming and she wants to scream, to touch him, touch herself, fix the coiling heat in her belly and her center.

                        The man makes a startled noise as the light by the bed flicks on, revealing a figure sitting in the corner, half in the darkness still, shadows creating sharp angles on his face. The lamp reflects on his dark black sunglasses.

                        “-the fuck?” her victim manages to say before this man is standing in front of him, one arm holding him in a lock, pressing into his windpipe and cutting off any air. The victim cannot speak.

                        “You sure know how to pick ‘em,” his tone is conversational.

                        “Don’t say I never do anything for you, brother dear,” Rose says, moving to stand next to him, air cool on her flesh. She’s got goose bumps up and down her arms, and Dave reaches out one hand to tangle roughly in her hair, pulling her closer to him. She stands on her tiptoes to press her mouth hungrily to his, warm and heated and full of need.

                        “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Rose, do you know what you do to me?” he says when they break apart, his hot breath tickling her lips. Rose trembles again, pressing as much of herself against him as she can.

                        The man from the bar is struggling, and Dave kicks him square in the chest, causing him to gasp and fall to the floor. Dave puts his foot on his chest, resuming the pressure.

                        “That little show you put on at the bar there,” he says before kissing her again.

                        “Oh, you noticed that?” she says.

                        “Fuck,” is all he breathes as he runs a hand down her back, caressing the small of her back with his familiar hands. “How should I do it?”

                        She notices his voice is shaking; she knows he feels the same hungry desire she does, the same lust for blood.

                        “With your hands,” she whispers into his ear. “So I can watch. So it’s not too... quick.”

                        Dave’s breath is uneven as he nods, “Yes.”

                        She doesn’t want to watch the man, she couldn’t care less about his heaving sack of a body, bloated and ugly. Instead she watches Dave, his face, focused and full of anticipation. He removes his foot from the man’s chest and he wheezes, air rushing back into bruised lungs.

                        He shouts, complains, struggles, but Dave is strong and she watches the flex of his muscles, his precise movements. He crouches, then quick as a dart delivers two quick punches to the man’s neck, causing him to seize up. Dave’s hands are around his neck and she loves his hands, his long fingers, almost graceful as they tighten, and their prey flails but weakly, his breath turning to gurgling.

                        “He tried to drug me, did you see?”

                        “Scummy desperate bastard,” Dave grunts, pressing even harder.

                        “So depressingly unoriginal,” Rose comments.

                        She crouches too, strokes Dave’s wrists with her own fingers, then reaches up to brush his face, down his cheekbones and over his lips, and he tongues at her, nipping the tips of her fingers. He’s still concentrating on the man, on the life slowly draining out of him, and his shoulders flex with the effort.

                        “Beautiful,” Rose breathes as they watch, and he’s not moving much anymore, the jerking has slowed, but they have to be sure.

                        As soon as enough time has gone by Dave lets go, stands, pulling her flush against his chest, kissing her so hard it’s painful, and Rose has to laugh, there’s so much mirth building inside her.

                        “You are marvelous,” she breathes once they break apart. “Truly the most exceptional -” 

                        “Stop talking,” Dave shuts her up with his mouth, pulling her up off the ground so she can wrap her legs around his waist, and they’re standing above the body and it’s still dark and she feels ready to burst with need, with longing for him. She needs more, more of him, until she’s lost herself inside him and they’re one person.

                        Her breasts brush against his t-shirt as he backs her into the wall, and she groans, rubbing against him, hotness spreading down between her legs, into her face, and she’s panting with the force of his kisses. He lets her mouth go, sucking on her neck, at her pulse and she wants to be connected to him. When he bites down she wails with lust, more tension pooling inside her.

                        “The bed, Dave,” she manages, “Now.”

                        “Love it when you get all forceful,” he replies, stepping over the corpse to gently lay her on the bed, and quickly shucking off his shirt and stepping out of his jeans. He’s not wearing any boxers, and he’s hard. She turns herself to kneel, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed until she can drop onto all fours and kiss down his stomach, over his defined stomach and lower, slowly taking the head of his cock into her mouth, sucking hard at the tip, and Dave _moans_ harsh and low, bringing his hand up to curl in her hair, pulling at it slightly, causing a thrill of pain to course through her. Rose relaxes her throat, inches forward to suck all of him down until he’s bumping the back, and lathes her tongue up and down. Dave’s making these noises she can barely stand, she wants more of them, wants him inside her.

                        After a minute she slides off him with a pop, licks her lips as she grins at him.

                        “Take off your glasses.” She tells him, and her voice is low and heated.

                        “Gets you real hot, doesn’t it?” Dave complies, reaching up to pull off his shades.  She stares into his bright red eyes. He quirks a smile, placing one finger on her mouth. “You’re a bit crazy, Rose.”

                        “Maybe,” she agrees.

                        “You’re _my_ crazy though, so it’s okay,” Dave continues, pushing her back lightly until she’s once again stretched out under him. She can feel his eyes again, always knows when he’s watching her.

                        He straddles her, just below her hips, bends down to mouth at her chest again, at the dark bruise from his earlier bite. He licks down to her breast, her nipple, hand reaching up to rub the other between his fingers. He swirls his tongue around the soft flesh, building up the sensation and pinching, hands warm. He trails down further, circles her belly button. Rose is trying to hold herself still, trying not to show her impatience, but it’s futile.

                        He grins up at her when she lets out a frustrated whine.

                        Then, without warning, he’s turning back and his tongue is on her, licking up and down. He laps at her clit, sucks hard, and Rose whines again, not with frustration but with arousal. Dave’s fingers join his mouth as he slides one inside, slick with wetness and heat. He crooks his finger, creates a rhythm of mouth and hands that causes Rose to keen and writhe, panting and overheated, and the tension of earlier doubles, triples, until she’s gasping and moaning with each heavy stroke against her clit, and he adds more fingers, twisting and thrusting up into her, as she cants her hips up in counterpoint.

                        She comes, hard, tightening around him and he continues to work her as she shakes with the orgasm.

                        He’s disheveled and his face is pink, and Rose calms her breathing after a moment.

                        “Tie me up,” she says, and Dave’s staring at her with this _look_ , pure liquid heat and lust and desire and she’s smirking, because she has the upper hand now, she knows what kind of things he likes, what both of them like.

                        The scarf is silky and smooth as he links her wrists together then ties them to the headboard, and he’s leaking precum across her stomach. Dave watches her tug on the bonds, dizzy with his own need.

                        “Fuck,” he breathes again, before positioning himself on top of her. He slides in with a huff that’s half moan, and Rose is quick to wrap her legs around him again. She loves making him lose his cool, to turn him into someone as desperate as she is, someone who needs her as much as she needs him, always.

                        His thrusts are fast and deep, slamming a wail out of her and the sensation is intense. Dave slows to kiss her thoroughly, to roam his hands over her body possessively, claiming her for himself. Rose gives herself freely, reciprocates his open mouthed attention with as much of his as she can reach without her hands.

                        He’s growling low under his breath as he resumes his punishing pace from before, and Rose is so caught up in the moment but she can make out ‘mine’ and it fills her from head to toe with warmth, because it is true.

                        yes, yours, she whispers back and Dave groans above her, comes hard and she wishes she could touch him.

                        He reaches back down after he’s finished to rub at her again, and her second orgasm is just as explosive, and she’s floating and Dave guides her back down, coming to untie her and she collapses into his arms, and his chest is warm against her back and she brings his hand to the finger shaped bruises on her shoulder, from the corpse still lying on their floor, and the depravity of the whole thing makes her smile.

                        “This was a good one,” Dave comments, “It’s been a while since we had one this good.”

                        Rose humms her agreement. “It’s my turn next, though.”

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the aptly named "serial killer" by lana del rey, which inspired this fic.


End file.
